Suddenly I’m fronting a 30-member gospel choir and I’m singing

“Well it’s only Wednesday and you’re down at the bar–
Doing things you know ain’t right.
You hardly ever start thinking ’bout your Father in Heaven
Till it’s ten p.m. on Saturday night.

“You remember Jacob–how he wrestled with the angel,
Got his life down from off from up on the shelf.
But you, you, you, you, you–you got some serious wrestling
‘To do, brother: got to wrestle with yourself.”

I would be dead if I didn’t
find it impossible not to laugh
at almost everything that is,
seen and unseen.

A singer explained to me once
that singing is controlled screaming.
I’m not a big cryer, but I did have a bit of sob
a couple of days ago and

I would sing
today if I weren’t to have
the mysteries of
People
when I sing